In the Game of Love

Chapter 10

Sonny's face pops up briefly on the starting line-up visual as I'm settling down on my couch in front of the TV, sipping on a glass of orange juice.

It's a brisk afternoon matchup against an in-form Brighton team. We don't start off playing all too well, but the match is an exciting one, with the opponent leaving so much open space on the field for our attackers to barge in. I'm a bundle of nerves as usual, filled with dread every time a red shirt crowds the Tottenham half. The jitters don't stop me still being completely engrossed with the game though, soaking in each and every move. For the most part, I'm following the ball, but I can't help my eyes always finding what our number seven is up to.

In the 10th minute of the game, it happens—a goal from Sonny. It's a beautiful shot, curled to perfection from just outside the box. It's a signature Son Heung Min goal. The crowd erupts, and a rush of overwhelming emotions engulfs me.

The graphic on the screen says it's his 100th goal in the premier league. That's a tremendous achievement for him. It's hard to describe what I'm feeling – pride of a fan who's supported him so ardently for so long, happiness of a friend who got to know him as a person, but with that there's a tinge of something else. Something I can't quite put my finger on.

Sonny celebrates passionately with his teammates, the picture of joy, without a care in the world. He has worked so hard for this, and he deserves it so so much. I truly am happy for the footballer Sonny. But...

Tears threaten to well up in my eyes.

What's wrong with me for fuck's sake.

I put down my drink and hide my face on my soft hoodie sleeve. For some reason, I can't look at the screen. I just can't.

How did it come to this?

He didn't even do anything wrong to me. But I can't help how I feel.

I take deep breaths and go into compartmentalization mode, stashing away those big emotions in a mental box I'm not ready to unpack just yet.

The game continues, a messy affair of peculiar calls from the referee, mostly in our favor. A clear penalty for Brighton is not given, and a goal that was probably perfectly legitimate is chalked off as offside. Spurs eke out a 2-1 win, though it feels thoroughly undeserved.

I get up and switch off the broadcast without waiting to see the usual post-match reactions. Just not in the mood for it today.

Pacing back and forth on the hardwood floors of my living room, I gnaw on my lower lip relentlessly.

It's like anything related to Spurs has become a sore topic for me. The sport, the team, the player – they've all somehow started to make me...uncomfortable...and I hate it. The situation was already bad enough with the manager sacked, results being so dismal and no hope of things getting better. Now with everything that happened with Sonny...

But what are we even – Sonny and me?

This is not really a knot I can untangle right now. I sigh.

Desperate for distraction, I retreat to my desk. A pair of small succulents and a collection of knickknacks I picked up throughout the years stand in an orderly fashion. Outside, a light rain has begun to fall, droplets pattering against the window overlooking the late afternoon gray skyline.

I switch on the iMac and seek out my happy place. My precious excel sheets.

I've always been what might be referred to as a bit of a nerd, but when it comes to football, I have reached a next level. I'm like a football-loving Hermione Granger, but without the pressing need for a gold star from Professor McGonagall. I give out my own gold stars, thank you very much.